


The Preservation of House Solidor

by korik



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Body Modification, Drugged Sex, Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Pregnancy Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, and another thing entirely for a tiny little thing to be wholly dependant on you, babies supposedly make everything better, because it's easy to ignore the value of life even while trying to preserve it, but not really, so trying to escape some heterosexism, they just kind of help Vayne stop being a self centered asshat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jokingly referred to as "Seahorse Universe" by my friend and myself, this is one side of a story where Vayne Solidor decides to actually start a family to continue the family line, and get himself more time to take out the Occurians. As he finds no one suitable of the female sex, the next best thing is himself, right? Gabranth and he have a tentative relationship to begin with but eh. Vayne tends to try to force things on people without asking (and he knows Noah would tell him off for it) thanks to his understanding relationships issues.<br/>These are a bunch of random EVERYWHERE drabbles, so please excuse the lack of fluidity from one scenario/chapter to the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preservation of House Solidor

Vayne spent those few nights after "the deed" was done alone. Curled up in his private quarters, his stacks of paper oddly, for once, neatly organized and collected in his restlessness. He had barely spoken a word to any he did not need to, and once Cid had dropped by to see if "anything had occurred", then laughingly declared Vayne had gotten himself knocked up due to his insatiable encounter with the newly awarded Judge Magister (but he had yet to take over Zecht's position), left again, leaving Vayne to his soreness and aching, to burn with a sense of shame he hadn't quite felt before.

There were odd moments, tears crawling down his face to the insane urge to break something, throw something - a pillow usually was the only thing thrown before he buried himself again, trying to wrap himself up into darkness, away from his haphazard emotions.

Noah would likely not talk to him again, their tentative relationship only very recently begun, and he would deserve it. He had used him, desperately so, somehow there should have been some way of knowing, restraining himself.

But anyone but Gabranth...?

He laughed into the fabric of his enclosure. Anyone but Gabranth now would be demanding recompense, or perhaps demanding permanent entry, some political mess or other, screaming upon the streets even how the young Prince had so much lost his mind, he had physically altered himself. Vayne is a thing, he could hear his make-believe crowd shriek. The Solidor heir is unfit! And Larsa?

Oh, how he moaned in despair. Larsa..! His throat contorted and he bit into the offending fabric. He would ruin his brother.

There was, thankfully, none else that knew.

When Vayne re-emerged, he knew he would have a time of explaining the slow and steady changes to his dress, to the small secret that was assuredly growing within him, if Cidolfus was to be believed at all. He did hope, wishing this all to have been a bad dream, that it was false.

He spent more time to himself, in the comfort of his small room - he went out to eat, be seen where appropriate, but he could not bring himself to pretend to dance with someone else, his hand briefly touching his stomach to see. But nothing seemed to happen.

He threw himself into training again, for a while relieved, distanced from those around him. His brow was dark, knit as it was before, lost to thinking as he stretched and pulled unhappy muscle, new muscle to do what he bade it. It was odd, however, taking note of the minor differences in his stance, the steady lack of hair in areas where it would normally accumulate.

Gods forbid, he was curving. He did not find it so...demasculinizing as perhaps others would have - it was nice not to really need to shave his face, all else mattered very little to him. If it stayed, it did, if not, so be it. His hair changed little, but there was something about the way he felt his facial structure when so involved in being in tune with himself, he...could not place it.

Then there were the soldiers. If they had not taken note of him before, they were beginning to now. Vayne was a rapidly learning expert at detecting the changes in the mannerisms of those around him. Young, school-boy awkwardness characterized by teasing, a slight flush to the skin, an urge to impress and an increase in showing off. He could have laughed.

His pants began to ill-fit. Vayne, shrugged it off, thinking it was purely his new regime of training - his stomach was hardening, his limbs slowly reacquainting themselves to the limberness he had once had. He was leaning, building, striping away some of the fat that lingered from his youth - but there were some areas in contrast that determinedly clung to it, adding to his...figure.

No, assuredly, he was curving, gods. His hips had widened, already destroying his efforts to wear any of his usual wellfitting fare, opting for a looser style for the moment. He did not want anyone to know just yet.

And the women, not just the men! His usual partners, used to his affairs and mannerisms, they seemed to come back in numbers he was unacquainted with. Perhaps they found his...newer feminine looks more appealing than when he had appeared more masculine. In a world ruled by men, it was not uncommon. Men could be cruel to these women, and destroy their lives if they so wished it. Appearing less "dangerous", as it were, perhaps they enjoyed it more.

He simply could only alleviate them temporarily, forced to at least display some of his typical Archadian mannerisms. Many a skirt he found himself under, but the men he could still not allow himself to he touched. For a little while, at least, perhaps nothing -

 At times, however, he wondered - his chest hurt oddly, feeling a little more sensitive than usual as if a permanent cold breeze were attacking him.

The lingering question, however from the odd sensitivity to a strange, bizarre cramp in his pelvis, kept him from imbibing more than a single glass or less of wine in the evenings, citing his new training as a way of dodging any questions about it.

Gabranth, he hoped, was at least happy, if not moving on from him. Not that...he was saying so because he wished...he weren't.

Agh, to think on him gave the Solidor heir a headache.

He should have realized that it would not go away, however. The statue eventually returned, not saying a word, calm, quiet, an unobtrusive presence made available between his moments with Judge Zecht, or whenever possible, and always at the most..curious times.

The slow throb at his waist a constant reminder, Vayne spent more and more time with his hand upon his stomach, and more time sitting, strangely exhausted with his usual routine. He would not give up the training, however, and found his shadow following him, the gleam of the armor in the dawn hours.

A little food there, a change here, Vayne watched his meals evolve into something he had to smile ruefully at - simple, rustic, far too obvious that they were not made by the servants beyond a certain point, in some areas perhaps, overseen by his quiet statue, but... he can only smile that smile of his and eat. The simple changes, however, were astounding, and nearly neatly always tried to send Vayne to take a nap.

It was only after a few aborted attempts of his measly effort to remain awake that he could no longer stand it, raising from his desk, exhausted, that Gabranth, ever silent, ever present, approached him.

For a moment, Vayne stared, his iced eyes seeking through the shaded dark to the honey-glazed sky. His pulse pounded and he debated strongly on taking a step or two back, hand at his side clenching.

The hollow voice repeated the question, emphasizing his request with a bow, an entreaty that sank the statue to his knee, fist o'er his heart: "My lord, if I may be so bold as to ask to touch you?"

The heir knew what he was asking, it plunged his frame into an icy bucket of cold; he wanted to see what he had personally been ignoring. It was easier to behind a desk, harder to in the early morning hours.

 His gaze shifted -

"There is none other here, my lord. Only us."

His head, with its drawn back hair pulling into a low slung ponytail, nodded, and he released the breath he had been holding. "Yes." He was unsure if he was heard.

The figure rose, however, gauntleted hands moving to remove his helm - and it was only then that he finally, finally, saw the knit so common on his own face reflected back in the slighter taller figure of the man he had once quietly called "love".

The gloves were next, placed alongside the helm upon the patchwork of papers on Vayne's desk. He knelt again, pausing before him.

It was all Vayne could do to not shiver, eyes intent, watching this man turn his head up, again asking: "May I?"

He breathed, "Yes."

Delicate fingers, worn by use of staff and sword brushed over the buckle upon his belt, seeming to take note of how loose it was already, slipping and tugging gently the soft edges of Vayne's collared shirt away and up, the idle patterns a mere decoration, a hiding place for the secret he was keeping even from himself.

But Gabranth - oh gods, it was all Vayne could do but inhale and exhale, reminding himself to breathe as he was so transfixed by the smile that broke the dark that clung to the other's brow, cold tipped fingers moving beneath the waistband, allowing his hands to be covered by the delicate fall of dark fabric.

"So it is true."

The younger man felt dumb. "Aye." He bit his tongue.

Noah chuckled, hopefully touched. "Aye."

Vayne could feel his fingers pressing, never hurting, following the delicate curve of his hip, sliding further down across his heated skin, experimentally testing, touching, looking for what Vayne could only guess was a confirmation of sorts. It was...arousing, to say the least, and his face flushed out of shame. He still wanted him, and now wanted him moreso that he knelt at his feet, smiling from a simple pleasure of...well. Uncovering something that was very life altering.

The heir took his chances. "I am...sorry for what I did; I knew you would never agree to it, as 'twas your right, and the truth of it."

Noah looked up at him again.

Vayne however continued to ramble, hoping to stop what anger would come. "I was a-afraid you would reject it, so I did it without asking; I am...truly sorry, it was wrong of me to take advantage of your trust."

Surely he was repeating himself, but it never felt enough. He had, for lack of a better word, raped his lover, taken his ability to choose and think, forcibly bred himself and all for the sake of some future he was trying to avoid. It was not the usual fare for making good, informed decisions about children, nor relationships.

It was easy then to understand why he was so startled when, as the floor creaked with the shift of weight, Noah stood, hands moving from the small swell of Vayne's stomach to gather up his hands. "'Twas not only you, my lord." The smile he was so undeserving of nearly broke him then and there. "I am sorry as well for being unable to control myself better." He shook his head. "But there is little to regret now, I think, shall we move on and...start anew, as they say?"

The Solidor hung his head, shamed, embarrassed, and also attempting to hide the glitter of tears upon his tired, flushed cheeks. "If you will have me..."

The soldier before him laughed, but it was not unkind, it was a familiar laugh. "You have taken the words from my mouth, silver-tongue - "

Whatever words were next were cut off as Vayne took his hands back, crushing the other's frame to his own, selfishly seeking a kiss.


End file.
